Seemingly Perfect
by Aurelia Callisto
Summary: This is an Aurelia Castillo original book-in-progress.  She's internationally renound. She's famous, starring and guest-starring on multiple TV shows and talk shows. She's a superstar. She's Adele Giona, but she's only seemingly perfect.


"**_Seemingly Perfect"_**

_**Chapter 1**_

Some people say that nothing is ever as it seems.

In my personal experience, this is completely and totally one-hundred percent true.

Especially today, because I know that I am going to have to go outside against my will, looking like I'm having the time of my life but keeping my cool all at once. Completely faking it. Again.

"Are you up yet?" my mom calls from the miniature kitchen in our enormous hotel room. I can tell she's way too excited for the day's events just by the tone of her voice.

"Yeah, I'm getting there," I reply, still basically half asleep.

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling for a good two minutes, then close my eyes and try to force myself to drift back to sleep, or at the very least to come up with some type of good excuse to stay at the hotel all day. I can't think of anything. My mom will know for sure that I'm faking it, no matter how much I cough or complain of an early stage of some unknown disease or just straight out throw a tantrum. I feel like I'm cornered. I have no choice but to push off the bed sheets, throw my long, light brown hair into a sloppy ponytail, and make my way into the bathroom.

See, I may look like a normal, average fifteen-year-old girl, but the flat out truth of the matter is, I am far from just average. Normal kids my age get to go to a regular, everyday school. They have normal jobs at the supermarket or at some restaurant or as a babysitter. Regular girls my age probably go to the mall every weekend with their friends or see a movie from time to time at the theater. And real, normal, average girls probably get to fall in love and go on regular dates and have boyfriends. Real, truly gorgeous boyfriends. They get to have bad hair days and sleepovers and long, deep conversations with their circle of friends aabout life and boys and school and, my personal favorite, who's hot and who's not.

But I'm not like those people. And I am definitely not the average teenage girl.

But I can bet that all those normal teenage girls, in addition to every normal, TV-watching person in the country, probably know my name. I live the life that most teens would kill to have even for a day. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that anyone would be thrilled to be Adele Giona, the famous teen actress. One of the biggest young superstars of this generation.

Everyone but me.

I mean, I appreciate everything I have. Don't get me wrong. I'm certainly not one of those airheads that have to have everything when they want it and don't realize how good they have it. I do love my life, but it irritates the heck out of me most of the time. And I certainly never get to feel normal in any way.

Today is one of those times. One of the many times throughout the year that I just can't stand. After I shower and go back into the suite, my eyes catch sight of the ultra-glam dress that I am supposed to wear for a big time premiere tonight. Ugh. Just looking at that overly sparkled thing makes me itchy. It seems as though no matter how many times I tell my publicist that I can't stand sparkles, he insists on having me suffer in one of those glittery death-traps as if my life depended on it. And I assure you, I know plenty of other celebrities who do _not_ wear glittery gowns on the red carpet that have survived and still have fabulous careers.

My mom comes into my room. "Oh good, you are up." I ignore the obvious comment and walk over to where the dress has been laid out on the bed. "I see you found the dress." She walks over to stand next to me. She sighs as she slightly straightens the wrinkled parts of the dress, making it look perfect. "Isn't it beautiful?"

I can see that she is absolutely in love with it. The way she's admiring it makes it completely obvious to me. My mom has always enjoyed watching me get all dressed up and glamorous and ready for a premiere or audition or really an event of any kind. I know from her many stories that she misses those days of her past when she was the one getting all dolled up. So I lie.

"Yeah, it's amazing. I'm glad we chose the turquoise and not another fire-engine red mess." The last gown I wore was for the Academy Awards. And trust me, it had been a disaster. I looked like a big, red shiny pimple- eye-catching, but not in the right way. Even my publicist, who had personally chosen the ensemble, had hated it. He told me that if we ever ordered another one of those he would personally burn it for me. That was music to my ears, as you can probably imagine.

My mom smiles at my little joke for a split second, but it quickly vanishes from her perfect face. I can tell that she is remembering the pictures that had been published in the magazines the week after the Awards. "Let's not talk about that. Anyway, the makeup artist will be here in twenty. So come eat something." She starts to exit the room, but then whips around just before she reaches the doorway. "Oh, and photo shoot at eleven."

I smile and nod, making a mental note to put on some of those two hour Crest Whitening Strips. The last time I went to a shoot without whitening my smile beforehand, the photographer had almost thrown the camera at my agent, who had not been having a particularly excellent day to begin with.

I let myself flop onto the bed as she leaves. _Just get through the shoot, _I tell myself, _then get through the rest of the night._

My cell phone starts ringing wildly, dragging my thoughts away from my agenda and irritation momentarily. Now here's a little fun fact for you: a lot of people think that all stars set their ringtones to one of their own songs. So not true. Rolling over to my stomach, I reach for my cell on the bedside table, which continues to play "Telephone" until I finally hit open on the text message that has popped up on the screen. It's from my friend Chamilla. Every time I have an event to go to, she travels with me. She always stays at the same hotel and randomly texts me at all hours of the night just to annoy me. Like last night, when she texted me at 3 a.m. asking for my opinion on whether to order a chocolate cake or a brand new Dooney & Burke handbag. But I know that she does it to cheer me up. And annoy me slightly simultaneously just for the heck of it.

When r u getting ur makeup done?

like 15 mins

can I come ova?

ya. whats up? and btw did u finally decide 2 order tht chocolate cake last nite? Sorry I fell asleep after the whole explanation of the importance of the bag lecture…

yes! wanna have some?

cant. photo shoot at 11

I'll save some for the plane ride home then

I lift myself up off the bed, although I wish I could stay there longer and eat Chamilla's chocolate cake all day. I check the time. Thirteen minutes until I have to do something. I run into the kitchen, rip open a brand-new box of granola bars, and rush back into the bedroom.

I'm searching around for my white shorts while simultaneously eating my snack when Chamilla waltzes into the room. Literally. She starts doing clumsy ballet turns and nearly falls over. Now that I think about it her ballet lessons never did end well. I crack up as she just misses the lamp on the bedside table.

"What? My dancing isn't that bad," she jokingly protests, tucking her already messed up blonde curly hair behind her ear. To prove herself, she does a grande jete, knocking the lamp over along with whipping my dress off the bed in the process.

I run over to her, laughing. "You're so right. That is the best dancing I've ever seen you do."

I think back to the time when she tried break dancing in an elevator in Phoenix, when she had accidentally hit the fire alarm and had started freaking out that the elevator was going to crash or something. I laugh even harder.

"Adele!" Startled, I look up and see my mother standing in the bedroom doorway, hands on her hips. "What is going on in here?"

I smile and stifle even more giggles. I rush over to place my dress back on the bed and smooth it out before she has ten fits over invisible wrinkles. Chamilla stops dancing wildly and flops onto the bed.

"Hi Chamilla," mom says, reaching over to give her a hug. "Where's your mom? Is she still in the room?"

"Yes. She said that she'll be here in ten. She's just finishing putting on her mascara or something like that." Chamilla waves her hand as if it's no big deal. Whenever Chamilla travels with me, her mom travels with her. It's a procedure that hasn't been broken ever since my first premiere when Chamilla and I were eleven.

My mom leaves to talk to Astelle, Chamilla's mother, next door. I jump off the floor where I had been re-adjusting the gown and start twirling vigorously into the closet.

"Which song?" Chamilla asks me. We always listen to her iPod while I get my makeup done. It's another one of our traditional procedures.

I yank on a purple t-shirt, replying with a muffled "Whatevs."

Some completely random version of a country song starts blasting. But it doesn't tune out my friend's obnoxious singing. I giggle and dance out of the closet.

By now Chamilla and I are so dizzy from spinning and giggling so hard that the room has turned into a human-size pinball machine. I score thirty points by bulldozing into the makeup stylist.

"Sorry, Ms. Giona," she starts to apologize as I stumble but somehow manage to turn down the volume on the speakers.

"No, no, it's my fault. Sorry," I say, stifling a laugh.

I take a seat at the cosmetic counter in the room. The stylist flips the switch, turning on the huge blubs that line the mirror. It's a good thing I am wake, or else I would have just lost all sense of vision.

Chamilla makes her way over to my sparkly nightmare of a dress, her blonde curls bobbing as she prances over to the bed. "Again?" she asks to no one really in particular. She knows how I feel about itchy glittered messes like that dress. That's why we're best friends. She gets me completely.

"Yup. I can't imagine a premiere without one," I mutter sarcastically.

The makeup feels cool on my face as the stylist begins applying blush and shadow. I close my eyes but continue to talk to my friend. "So what are you wearing tonight?"

"A feathered mauve sparkly dress."

She knows that the only thing I can't stand wearing more than sparkles is feathers. Trust me, I've been there and there is no way on earth that I'm ever going back. I can't help it. I burst out with laughter, causing the lipstick that was in the process of being applied to slide across my cheek, making me look like I have really thick pink whiskers. I glance in the mirror, gasp, and then erupt once again into a fit of giggles.

"Sorry!" I glance at the stylist, who immediately starts dabbing hurriedly at the blemish. I turn my attention back to Chamilla. "Really, is Mother Goose coming along with us or what?"

Chamilla cracks up. "Yeah, sure. Let's go with that." She slides onto the floor and starts playing around with the iPod, no doubt choosing a song that mentions feathers in some way, just to play up the moment.

"Okay, fine. Wear whatev."

"Oh, I promise you, it will be fantabulous." She looks up at me and grins. Her smile tells me that she is definitely considering gluing feathers to her dress for tonight.

_**Chapter 2**_

"Adele, check it out!" Chamilla squeals from her perch on the sofa in the corner of the bedroom.

"Hold on a minute," I say, trying to examine my makeup. I never really look forward to having my makeup done, because afterwards, I usually end up looking like a Barbie doll, with a ton of glittery color on my eyes and newly enlarged eyelashes that resemble something you might see on a commercial for some new enhancing mascara. But today, it doesn't look that bad. My eyes have been tinted with a teal blue color that matches my dress perfectly, and there's not an overload of shadow that will take me a week's worth of make-up remover to scrub off of my eyelids. It looks subtle, which I personally prefer to the blown-up Barbie doll style that I usually get. And best of all, there's not ten pounds worth of sparkly gunk.

I trot over to Chamilla, whose eyes are intently examining the pictures on the screen of my laptop. "Okay, what's up?"

She turns the wide screen around to face me. At first, I have to blink a few times, letting my eyes adjust to the bright glare of the image. "How bright do you have that thing?"

"Like all the way or something like that. Anyway, look!" She points to the screen, exaggerating her excitement for whatever she found.

I force myself to fight against the brightness and check out the picture. Now I see what she's so thrilled about. It's a picture of me and her getting ice cream yesterday at Scoops. I laugh, because I notice that the picture focuses on my vanilla-covered shorts. I remember that. Chamilla had accidently pushed her bowl of ice cream across the table and it just so happened that it landed on my black shorts.

"Oh my gosh!" I plop down next to her, still laughing.

"I love this picture," she giggles. "It really captures our love of vanilla and ice cream and all that good stuff. We should really go to that place more often."

I am still laughing like crazy as she shows me another paparazzi photo of me attempting to win at a game of spoons (for the record, I did beat Chamilla in the second round). _Adele really knows how to cream her opponent! _the caption reads. I laugh even harder.

You know, a lot of people may think that paparazzi pictures are just plain embarrassing to the stars that are in that type of spotlight. Sure, I know plenty of celebrities that absolutely loathe the snipes of their faces first thing in the morning without a hint of make-up on. Me, I don't mind them. They show that celebrities are real people; that can eat ice cream with their best friends on an extremely warm day in New York.

Chamilla closes the laptop, giggling and imitating her silly face in the picture. I crack up along with her.

"So," I say once I'm practically giggled-out, "want some ice cream?"

She laughs. "No thanks. Unless you want to take some more pictures before your shoot."

"Good point."

Just then, I hear my mom coming back into the suite. I steal a quick glance at the time; I have five minutes before I have to leave for the shoot. I turn back to Chamilla. "I gotta get going," I sigh before reluctantly heading over to the closet to throw on my street clothes.

"Yeah, I should probably go too," she admits, pulling her curls into a loose ponytail.

I really, really want to just flop back onto the bed and stay here. I hate it when I have to leave my friend, especially when it's for something as pointless as a shoot. I mean, obviously I have no choice but to go, but I would much rather just stay here and laugh at other paparazzi photos that are online.

"Are you ready?" mom calls from the other room.

I hurriedly toss my cell into the leather tote and slide into my ballet flats. Chamilla gives me a quick hug and whispers, "See you later! Wait 'til you see my duck outfit."

I giggle and wave to her, saying that I am absolutely thrilled to see her costume for tonight. "'Kay, mom, all set!"

I start to rush out of the suite, but Chamilla interrupts my frantic pace to hand me my sunglasses. "No more pictures until you get to the shoot," she giggles.

"Thanks," I say in a sarcastic tone and fly down the hallway to the elevator. Thankfully, I make it just in time, and the limo is waiting patiently for me in front of the hotel. I slip on my sunglasses and climb in, taking a deep breath as the car pulls away from the curb. _Almost done. Only a few more hours, one photo shoot, and a whole ton of hurrying to go._

_**Chapter 3**_

"Good, just a few more!"

I turn and give my best "look at me!" smile, then turn the other way and put on my "love me" face. Finally, I use my signature "Adele Giona" pose. The camera guy snaps another picture.

"Perfect, Adele, perfect!" He puts down the camera. "Now give me a few 'want me' looks. Yes, now put your hand right there and… Yes! Perfect!" He starts photographing again.

The lights are so bright that I almost can't see. But I give my best "want me" eyes and continue with the shoot. All in a day's work.

My mind starts to wonder. I start thinking about when the heck I am ever going to stop taking pictures and get to my next appointment. This stuff feels like it takes forever. Ugh. Almost done. Which by default translates into: almost into that itchy sparkly nightmare.

As I look back to the camera and regain my focus, I see something sparkling in the distance. _No way. They did NOT bring that dress here. _It yanks my attention away from the camera lens. I certainly did not find getting into that dress now and staying in it until midnight or later anywhere near exciting.

I try to look at the sparkling distraction, fighting against the bright lights and camera flashes. I focus in, scanning the room for that dress. But that's when I realize that it's not my premiere gown. It's a cell phone. Of a guy. That's staring right at me.

His large brown eyes are gazing at me. It's not the normal way someone would look at you, even if you're at a magazine photo shoot and your hair is whirling around your face and you have all this makeup on and you look like a million bucks. No. He eyes are fixated on me as if he has never seen anyone else before. As if he was starstruck or something (trust me, I know what that looks like). I can't see anything but his cell and his chocolate-colored, gleaming eyes. They're mesmerizing, so much in fact that they capture my attention to the point where I don't feel like I'm at a photo shoot anymore. I actually feel as though I'm caught in some sort of dream.

_Oops! _I suddenly remember that I still have my "want me" look plastered all over my face. Automatically, I turn back towards the photographer, smile regularly, and pose for one last picture.

"Okay, Adele, perfect! All set." He begins to reload his camera. Then he spontaneously adds, "Oh, and have fun tonight!"

"Thanks," I say, smiling but silently rejoicing that the shoot is over. I start walking to the table with all the Vitamin Waters on it, messaging my cheeks as I go.

I grab a bottle and whiz around, searching for the guy with the gazing eyes. I don't see him. Or the glittery cell phone, for that matter. _Great. Now I don't know who the heck that was. For all I know, it could have just been another photographer. Or a magazine editor. Or some complete stranger._

Ugh. Well, at least the shoot's over. I try to clear the questions from my head before they take over. Refocusing, I take another sip of my drink and go to change out of these tight, exasperating photo shoot clothes.

But as I find my manager and climb into the backseat of the limousine, I can't help but think about that guy.

_**Chapter 4**_

The world rushes past me as I hurry into the hotel once again, being escorted silently but quickly through the large, marble-floored lobby and making my way upstairs to the suite. Everything's a blur right now. I'm not completely in my mind. The image keeps invading my thoughts and blocking my vision.

My mind starts to wonder as I climb into the elevator. I can't help thinking about those brown eyes. I keep searching my brain, trying to think of where I have seen that guy before. Another photo shoot? An episode guest star? No. Nothing rings a bell. It seems like no matter how hard I try to come up with an image or an answer or a vision or something, anything, I just can't. It annoys me to no end when that type of thing happens, when I can't find something that I am trying strenuously to search for.

The button on the elevator lights up and the bell dings, pulling me back into reality. Walking down the corridor, I once again make an attempt to wipe away the image of that guy, that look, those eyes, from my thoughts for the moment being.

The corridor twists and turns until I finally reach my hotel room. I open the door and slip inside, and take a deep breath. _Finally, some downtime._

_ Wrong. _Immediately, I am surrounded by a boatload of people, carrying hairspray and hairbrushes and lipgloss galore.

"Hi, honey," my mom calls from the makeup counter.

I sit down. I should have figured that there would be no downtime at all today. I mean, really, what was I thinking? There's a premiere to get ready for.

Smiling at my mother, I decide to just exhale and try to relax, as my hair is pulled and brushed in a variety of different directions and the stylists start to touch up my makeup, brushing over my eyeshadow and fixing my gloss.

Every time I look in the mirror, I have a different hairstyle. First it was being straightened, then it was in a ponytail, then it was engulfed in sparkles, and now it's in the process of being curled. I can only imagine how it's going to end up looking afterward.

I peek over all the sparkles and curling irons and blush at my mom. Her brunette bob is currently being curled too, but her area is nowhere near as hectic as mine. Lucky her.

"How was the shoot?" my mom asks me over the ruckus. "Did the pictures come out okay?"

I try to nod, but it's no use over all the commotion. So I say, "Yes. The lighting was perfect. Joan said that they would be featured in the spring issue. She made sure of that."

My manager, Joan, was very particular about magazine stuff. She claims that I look best in spring colors, or brighter shades of blues and pinks and pastels. I smile as I remember all the commotion she had caused at one of my first cover shoots, when she had insisted that I wear a light blue sundress over one that looked exactly the same. Chamilla had come to that shoot, and hadn't stopped laughing the entire time as I tried on one dress, then the other one, which was totally the same to everyone standing there inspecting me, just not to my manager.

My mother replied, "Terrific. Good job, honey."

I sighed. I know that she loves this kind of thing- makeup, photo shoots, glamour, everything. I just really didn't see the point. But whatever. If she thinks it's necessary and fun and whatever else, I'll do it and make sure that it looks like I'm having fun, even if I'm not.

_**Chapter 5**_

It's a lie that celebrity makeup is always done perfectly and looks absolutely fabulous. Take mine, for example. Right about now, I look like I've got the whole bathroom on my face.

The shadow on my eyes has gone from a light teal tint to a thick layer of turquoise glitter. My cheeks look like I am totally exaggerating the "I'm upset" look, partially because there's at least a pint of blush from my perspective and partially because I am really warm in this dress. You know that Barbie doll look I was talking about earlier? Well, this is like Barbie times ten.

My mom, on the other hand, says I look gorgeous. She keeps telling me that the makeup came out perfectly and that I am going to look stunning on the red carpet tonight. I know that she has a good eye for this kind of thing, because she had done it for years when she was about my age, but I completely find the look to be ridiculous.

I'm trying to get my high-heeled, silver shoes on my feet as my cell starts buzzing and singing "Telephone", diverting my attention away from my impossible shoes and towards a text from Chamilla. I drop my shoes on the bed, and run daintily over to the cell phone that is trying to charge for a few minutes until I have to head off. I press "open" and read the message.

hey im all set! U ready 2 go?

ya come on ova. Just attempting to get these shoes on :P

kk c u in like 3 min!

I set the phone back down and allow it to resume charging. Meanwhile, I decide that I might as well run around and find that lipgloss I'm supposed to put on before I get in the limo. I rush over into the bathroom, trying not to turn my neatly done curls into a disaster as I quickly make my way across the wide room. I try not to slip on the marble floor, well aware that I am wearing a pair of nylons that I already found out have a slight tendency to slide without warning.

"Adele?" I hear Chamilla enter the room just as I skid into the bathroom, narrowly missing the doorframe.

"In here! Just gotta get my gloss!" I call to her, while in the process of searching frantically for the Pink Chiffon Lipgloss.

_Got it! _I carefully but hurriedly tiptoe back into the suite with the newly obtained gloss in my hand. _Oops!_ I feel myself start to slide and careen backwards. Chamilla reaches out and tries to steady me, but she comes crashing down too. Luckily, we don't end up crushing each other. I start to laugh as she mutters, "Dumb laws of gravity."

We help each other up before our mothers can catch sight of us on the floor in our new gowns. As I smooth out my dress and check for missing sparkles (unfortunately there aren't any), I catch a glimpse of Chamilla's royal purple dress. It's dazzling; it had a puffy skirt and came right above the knee, and best of all, no sparkles included. Chamilla always looks stunning in purple. I can see that she likes my sparkly nightmare of a dress, though, because her eyes light up at the sight of it on me.

"I love your dress," she says admiringly. "The sparkles are really flattering. And the color is wicked cute!"

"Let's just be glad it's not red," I say jokingly. "I like yours too!"

She gives a little twirl, and the skirt spins with her. "I decided not to use those feathers. They kept falling off," she admits, but I can tell she's joking. Sort of.

I laugh. Astelle, accompanied by my mother, walks into the room. "Adele, that gown is brilliant!"

I blush. No matter how many premieres or red carpets or events I go to, I always get shy when someone compliments my gown. A lot of people that I meet think that you get used to it after a while, but I don't think so. It's always flattering to be complimented.

I can see my mom examining my dress, too. "Adele, I love it." She comes over and gives me an air-hug so that the sparkles don't start falling off my dress. "You look glamorous, honey."

"Thanks." I smile shyly. I did look at myself in the mirror earlier, after I had put on the dress. Everything had come together. It looked nice, but I still wanted to just change into my pajamas and stay home. I like getting dressed up, but not for too long.

We head down to the lobby. I can see a ton of people turning their attention towards us, mainly to me, and whispering, "Oh my gosh, that's Adele Giona!" "Whoa, that's her!" "She's staying here?" "She looks amazing!" "Is that her?"

In an instant, I am surrounded by a sea of strangers. Everyone starts talking and pushing and shouting at once. "Adele, Adele, Adele!" is all I can hear. I manage to smile confidently, even though I feel like shrinking, and say "hi" politely, trying not to become too overwhelmed by the swarm of fans and hotel guests. My bodyguard is trying to push through the mob ahead of me, but Chamilla is standing right next by my side. She grabs my hand and tries to lead me out towards the door so I don't get trampled by the crowd.

As I make my way through the crowd, I stop every so often to take a picture with some fans or sign autographs as pens and papers are pushed my way. Abruptly, one little girl, probably no older than seven, comes up to me. I pause as she looks up at me, eyes gleaming. Her bright eyes bring me back to earlier today, to the photo shoot, when the guy looked at me with similar large, gleaming eyes. I smile at her.

"Hi," I say, unclasping Chamilla's hand and bending down to greet the girl.

The small girl smiles and Chamilla pushes her way over to stand by me patiently. The girl gives me a hug and I take a picture and ask her what her name is as I take the notebook and gel pen the woman with her offers to me.

"Jenna," she replies shyly, twisting one of her short brown pigtails around her finger.

"It's very nice to meet you, Jenna," I say, while simultaneously signing an autograph for her.

"You too, Lindsay," she says, calling me by my stage name from the show _"Make It"._ "I watch you on TV every day."

"Aw, you do?" I ask politely. I sign the autograph from both me and Lindsay, something I've gotten very good at when meeting little kids who only know my main character's name. "Thank you!"

People tell me that all the time. It's always flattering to me to hear that the like what I do and that they like me. I know it may seem like it gets old, or like it's just another fan, but it's not. These are the moments I remember for a long time. I love to hear girls tell me that they like my characters and the shows and movies. It makes me feel like I'm not just taking life day by day, waiting for a light at the end of the tunnel to show me what I should be doing. No way. It causes me to look at things differently, even if just for a split second. From that perspective, I look back and see the gradual evolution of my career and of myself, changing and inspiring other people, especially the younger girls, to dream and have confidence. Plus, it's always fun to hear that I am pretty or smart or sometimes just plain funny on the shows.

I say goodbye to Jenna and give her one last hug as I stand up and let Chamilla and Kent, my bodyguard, lead me out of the lobby and onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel. As Chamilla gets into the limousine, she smiles and whispers, "I absolutely adore when you do that."

I beam at her. I definitely get annoyed with my life sometimes, but I always love that part of my job.

_**Chapter 6**_

Cheering crowd. Paparazzi snapping photographs. Everyone shouting and waiting for their favorite stars to come by to get an autograph and a picture.

Pure bliss.

Not.

I am sitting in the limo, staring at the outside world as if it's an entirely different planet. Some people think that once you've been to one red carpet, you've seen it all. They think you don't get nervous anymore before you step out of the limousine and into the celebrity spotlight. I'm going to tell you right now that those statements are completely false. No matter how many red carpets or premieres that I've been to, I always end up with butterflies in my stomach right before I step into that highly-publicized world that lies outside the safety of the limo. And every red carpet looks completely different from the next, even if it is in the same location that the event was held at the past year. There's always new stars, new advertisements, different gowns and fancy outfits, and versatile camera crews at each event. So right now, I'm feeling a little jittery.

Chamilla follows my gaze out the limo. She reaches over and touches my hand, as she does before each premiere. "You're Adele Giona!" she recites in a fascinated voice. "You have done this before, and you are going to walk down this red carpet with one-hundred percent confidence again."

Her pep talks always cheer me up. But I know that I have to go out there again and conceal my true emotions of agitation and nervousness. I honestly don't want to get out of the car at this moment. I don't want to have to keep hiding the real me from the rest of the world. And I definitely do not by any means want to go out there and lie again and act like I want to be there. But she's right. I have done this before, and I can walk down there again. _I am Adele Giona. I am me. This is my life, and this is what I do._

I take a deep breath and brace myself. I nod to the chauffeur, who readily opens the door. My mom steps out, followed by Astelle. Chamilla steps out next, dramatically placing one sparkly high-heeled foot out of the limo for suspense. Then it's my turn. I exhale again, close my eyes, and gracefully step out of the limousine. The crowd cheers as I am absorbed into the outside world, full of other celebrities and plenty of paparazzi.

I scan the large crowd that lines the brilliantly red carpet, giving the cameras my signature Adele Giona smile and pose. Chamilla shines and smiles next to me, and we take our first steps of the night together on the red carpet.

I can hear my name being called out from various directions as people snap pictures and scream and cheer excitedly from the sidelines. I make my way down the carpet, smiling and posing for fan pictures. I have no idea how many autographs I end up signing at these things. I remember Chamilla and I tried to count once, but we lost track miserably after one-hundred fifty-two in half an hour.

I see interviewers for the televised pre-shows stopping to talk to my mom and other famous legends as well as today's hottest celebrities about what they are planning on doing this year in terms of their fabulous careers and how excited they are to be here tonight. My mom, who is genuinely thrilled to be at another red carpet, shines with excitement and enthusiasm whenever pauses to chat. On the other hand, I am dreading the moment once again when I am stopped and interviewed and have to lie about how excited I am to be here against my will, minus the "against my will" part, of course.

I pass by a ton of celebrities. I have worked with at least a good half of them throughout the course of my celebrity career, and I will probably end up working with some of them as well as others again soon. As I waltz on by, I pause every so often to chat to some of my celebrity friends and briefly catch up. I am definitely going to be doing a lot of texting tomorrow. Ugh.

"Wow, I didn't think that many celebs would show up tonight. I thought half of them were touring in Europe," Chamilla mutters to me, glancing around at the bustling carpet area.

"Yeah, I know that a lot of them were going to be on tour, but most came back just for this," I tell her. "Like Cameron and Zoe. They are heading back to their tour the day after tomorrow."

I walk along, continuing to pose for pictures. Suddenly, an interviewer catches up to me. "Adele, let me say you look dazzling tonight. Are you excited to be at the premiere?"

I know this guy by name now, after so many events. "Thanks so much, Paul! Yes, I am just so thrilled. This is definitely an amazing event and I personally can't wait to see this. Zoe Mezcla is an amazing actress and this movie is supposed to be one of her best yet."

"Yes it is very exciting. And it seems that everyone in Hollywood has come out tonight to support Zoe. Thanks, Adele, have a great time tonight. I'll catch up with you later." I smile and wave as I leave the camera's view. Chamilla and I giggle. She knows that those interviews are just as ridiculous as anything.

Right now, my dress is getting on my last nerve. This sparkly thing won't stop glittering with all the camera flashes and bright lights. _Just a few more hours._

It's like this dress is attracting all sorts of unwanted attention. Reporters and interviewers are stopping me and talking to me even more than usual. It's like this glitter nightmare has some type of attraction powers or magnetic forces and is drawing the cameras to me. _Maybe I should have protested for a red dress._

Chamilla poses for a few pictures with me as the paparazzi call out to us to take a few pictures together. I adore when Chamilla gets in the pictures. She makes it so much less intense and way more fun than posing solo. It is always the most fun I get to have all night. Best of all, I know that when we get back to the hotel, she's going to be searching the Internet for all the photos, laughing at all the times we accidently blink and squealing that she's in pictures from a premiere.

I am almost done on the carpet. They're going to let us all in soon so that we can get to see the premiere of the movie. I sigh as I look down the line. The carpet seems to stretch out for another two miles, even though I know that isn't necessarily true. I suddenly notice that Chamilla is not next to me anymore. I abruptly turn around, scanning for her between the groups of celebrities and famous actors and musicians streaming down the red carpet. Finally, I spot her. She's signing an autograph for these two little girls who I remember talked to us at the last premiere we went to a few months ago. _That's so sweet, _I think as I watch Chamilla smile wide with surprise and pride.

That's when I see something familiar. Too familiar, but not in the bad sense. I catch sight of these large, chocolate-colored eyes, gleaming at me, just as they had a few hours before at my photo shoot.

It hits me. This is where I had seen them. Not at an episode filming, not at a photo shoot or interview. On the red carpet; at every premiere for the past two years. They had just never looked at me like that before.

The question finally stopped haunting me. I know what it is, or rather who it is, now. It's not some random stranger. I just can't believe _who_ it is.

_**Want to find out who it is? Want more from "Seemingly Perfect"?**_

_**More is to be posted soon. But for now, I'll let you wonder and fantasize.**_

_** Till then,**_

___**A**__**dele **__**G**__**iona**_


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